


Blood Runs Deep

by oddgit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Flashbacks, Gunshot Wounds, idk what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:45:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/pseuds/oddgit
Summary: "John had never been bothered by the sight of blood. That’s why he was so good at his job. But when it’s coming from someone you love… that’s a different story."So I wrote this a while ago and I just kind of forgot about it.Thanks to M_E_Lover as always for the beta and convincing me to post this! All mistakes are my own!





	Blood Runs Deep

John had never been bothered by the sight of blood. That’s why he was so good at his job. But when it’s coming from someone you love… that’s a different story. First it was his sister. Sophie. He was young. Only 6 years old at the time actually. But he still remembers everything. She was older than him, 12. They were outside playing with their dog, a German shepherd named Buddy. They were throwing a ball back and forth, laughing. Until the ball rolled out into the street and Sophie ran to get it. He remembers everything, the screams from his mother telling her to get out of the road and his father dropping his wrench and running out of the garage after her, “it was Sunday and his father loved to work on cars while he was on leave from the army.” He couldn’t do anything; he didn’t even realize what was going on. He remembers the blood though. It was spreading across the pavement underneath her. It was on his dad, who was cradling her in his arms until the ambulance and police showed up. There was no blood though when he watched them lower his sister into a hole in the ground in a box.

Next it was his father. Well to be fair, he actually never saw any blood. But he had imagined it. He was older now, 13. He had heard people behind him at his dad’s funeral saying how he ran back in and saved people from being blown up. Which in turn got him blown up… wow there must have been a lot of blood. Turns out having to bury both a daughter and a husband within seven years of each other isn’t the most ideal thing to go through for someone. His mom didn’t talk much anymore.

Then it was a couple of friends in the army here and there. Now that he had actually watched someone get blown to pieces in front of his own eyes, he knew exactly how much blood would have come from his father. By now, he knows the look people get in their eyes when they know they’re going to die, it’s almost peaceful. John can’t blame them though, living is the hard part, dying must be easy. When he killed someone for the first time, it was hard. Not that much blood surprisingly, well at least that he saw anyway. He had to keep moving or he’d be the one lying on the ground dead. It was his first tour in Iraq, they got ambushed by the Taliban in the dark, and he killed 4 people that night. At least that was the number he could actually confirm. There were probably others, he just didn’t bother to check. The body count sure as hell didn’t make it any easier, he spent half the night vomiting behind a tree. It wasn’t the blood that made him sick, it was the monster he knew he was becoming.

Blood had basically become a moot point by the time he was in the CIA. He had seen enough of it and sure as hell lost enough of it not to really care anymore. He didn’t care about anything or anyone anymore. He couldn’t even remember what it felt like to have a friend. He was practically counting down the days, walking through what they called a life but in all reality should not be called life anymore… until he and Kara would eat a stray bullet or get tortured until they were killed.

Then Harold found him and brought him back. And he was helping people. Saving people. He had a purpose again. He had people he cared about. Which is the first mistake he made. Caring for people again. Because that’s when Joss bled to death in his arms. He didn’t think blood bothered him anymore but he was wrong. That’s when he realized blood didn’t bother him unless it was coming out of someone he cared for. Someone he loved.

Now it was Harold. The only person on this planet that knew everything there was to know about John, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care that John was a murderer, he didn’t even believe it. John had found out what it felt like to have a friend again. Someone who cared about him and he genuinely felt the same way. He would throw himself on an active grenade if it meant saving Harold’s life.

He would sure as hell jump in front of a bullet, and he had done it many times before. But he was too late this time. They had no idea that their 15 year old number would be a perpetrator and he’d notice Harold following him. John hated that Harold had to trail some of the numbers now, but with being “Detective Riley” now, he couldn’t work all the numbers and maintain his cover. He was on his way to help Harold when he heard a gunshot followed by “Oh Dear.” Through his ear piece.

“Harold?!” John gasped. “Finch are you okay?” He pushed his foot down on the gas. Thinking that the harder he pushed the pedal down, the faster he could get to his friend, even though it was already on the floor board.

“I seem to be in need of some… assistance Mr. Reese.” Harold breathed out and John heard a thud.

“Harold, just keep talking to me I’m almost there.” John calmly said even though every ounce of him said to scream, to call 911 and get Harold help.

“J…John I’m sorry…” Harold whispered.

“Damn it Finch stop. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He tried to push the pedal down farther. “’I’m here Finch where are… oh I see you I’m…” John ran over to Harold as fast as he could his chest ached when he saw the blood surrounding Harold where had sat down and propped himself up against the cement wall in the alleyway. “Harold I’m here.” He ran to kneel beside his partner, John saw the oozing red liquid coming from Harold’s stomach. And suddenly he was six years old again, watching the men from the ambulance take his sister away. He was lying down holding Joss in his arms watching as her chest stopped rising and falling.

“Mr. Ree...” Harold started but spit up blood onto the ground. “John…” Harold sighed.

“Harold come on let’s go… we have to go…” John tried to pick him up but Harold just sat there without the energy to move himself.

“John… just… stay… with me…” Harold groaned… he knew he wouldn’t make it to the car.

“Harold no we have to go, we have to get you help. Please.” John begged. Harold still didn’t move and then John realized… Harold had that resigned look on his face. “Do not do this. We can still…you’re not going to die.” John couldn’t think. Couldn’t move… It was useless, John knew, but he pressed a hand as hard as he could against the wound in his partner's stomach… falling to his knees and closer to Harold. He knew there was no chance Harold would survive if they didn't get him the help he needed in the following short minutes. Harold couldn’t speak anymore…he slumped to his side…John kneeled over him, cradling Harold’s head on his thighs. Harold looked up as best as he could, his eyes glistening with pain and unshed tears meeting John’s terrified gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but blood bubbled from between his lips and streaks rolled down his chin. “Shh it’s okay. I know.” John whispered knowing exactly what Harold was trying to tell him. “I'm sorry, Harold... It should have been me,” he whispered, his voice only a rasp as his throat was constricted with devastation. It was a miracle he could still talk. Harold lifted up his head as best as he could and shook his head, barely… but John saw it. The last thing Harold wanted was for John to think it was his fault, but he knew he would blame himself until his dying day… no matter what. He was on the other side of the world when Jessica was killed, and he still blamed himself. When Finch’s eyes couldn’t focus on John anymore, John knew it was very near the end. Finch just looked up staring at the sky. It was really a beautiful night, and for a split second… Harold thought he saw a star… even amidst the city lights. John never took his eyes off of Harold. His hand still pressing on the gun wound, stilling the flow…or at least trying to. “Thank you Finch.” Reese said, choking back tears. “For giving me a purpose.” John felt tears starting to fall down his cheeks. Harold finally focused on him again and with two final words…

“Keep… fighting…” Harold’s eyes floated to the back of his head, he went limp in his friend’s arms and he was gone…John shot up and started to pump on Harold’s chest.

“No. No. Not yet. Please Finch. Please come back.” John pleaded even though he realized it was no use. Finch was gone. He heard a car pull up after about 5 minutes of pumping on Harold’s chest, in that time he thought he had felt one of Harold’s ribs crack. Amidst his frantic compressing and forcing air into Harold’s lungs he felt a hand on his shoulder and Shaw knelt down next to him within his vision.

“Reese…” she started looking down at Harold’s lifeless body. “Reese, come on we have to go… you have to stop…” she whispered.

“No. I can’t. Can’t stop. Not leaving him.” John growled back. Shaw noticed he was out of breath and sweat and tears were streaming down his face. “I can’t stop.” He said over and over again. Just then Shaw laid her hand over Reese’s intertwined fingers that were compressing on Harold’s chest.

“Then let me…” She whispered back. He looked up at her with his dark blue eyes, filled with tears… he didn’t take his gaze off of her until his compressing slowed and he let Shaw take over. Her hands felt warm on his, unlike Harold’s body. She continued to do compressions on Harold’s chest slowly for another few moments… but then she stopped... She lifted her hand and closed Harold’s eyes. His glasses had fallen off when he fell over onto John. John grabbed them off the ground and put them back onto Harold’s face… he always hated being without them. As he set them onto his ears… his sobs could not be controlled any longer and he reached for Harold's jacket and grabbed the fabric tightly in his fists; he couldn't let go. He was scared, afraid of what he might become without Finch. Then Harold’s last words rung in John’s head… _Keep fighting_. So that’s exactly what he did.

 


End file.
